


Ladies of Quality

by rapacityinblue



Category: Swordspoint Series - Ellen Kushner
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, Marcus briefly, Sick Fic, Spoilers: Privilege of the Sword, allergies suck, also general misanthropy, because obviously, but mostly f/f, duchess drama queen, i feel you katherine, implied ot3, not central to the plot at all, really implied, richard and alec are also referenced, she comes by it honestly, squint for it, vague colonial racism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 10:54:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5494565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rapacityinblue/pseuds/rapacityinblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lady Katherine is the most sensible Duchess Tremontaine has seen in four generations. Which isn't saying a whole lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ladies of Quality

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saiditallbefore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saiditallbefore/gifts).



The Duchess Tremontaine was not at home. 

She had not made any calls, or even sent her card around. And yet, when her visitors were met in the lobby, all were turned away with the same words. The Duchess was not at home. 

The unlucky visitors received the news from Marcus, her young man. A holdover from the previous Duke’s household, Marcus was sharp and terse. Like his former master, he had little interest in the niceties of polite society. The Duke, one supposed, had found him amusing. Many supposed the Duke found him a great deal more than that. The Duchess, however, was more concerned with propriety than her uncle had been, so there was some confusion among the Hill as to why Marcus was still employed at Tremontaine House. And yet employed he was, happily so, greeting her visitors with mean humor as they filtered through, leaving cards in their wake. 

Two floors above the receiving lobby, the Duchess Tremontaine sat surrounded by soft quilts and an egregiously large number of feather bolsters. At her side was Artemisia Fitz-Levi, her dearest friend and confidante. She held the Duchess’s palm, her own smaller hand pale and cool around the Duchess’s calloused palm. With her other hand she held a damp rag, and every so often she dabbed it gently at Duchess’s temples. 

The Duchess Tremontaine announced, “I am dying.” 

“You are not dying,” Artemisia said. The first repetition of these words, her voice had been fond, but her patience had worn thin two full days ago. She would rather have been downstairs, conversing with the guests who cycled through the Duchess’s parlor. After all, she, and not Marcus, was one of their number. Her manners were more suited to the gentle sensibilities of the ladies of the Hill, who did not like being poked at. Marcus never could seem to resist poking. 

Artemisia, in short, was a Lady of Quality. Ladies of Quality did not make exceptional nurses. 

“I’m dying,” Katherine insisted. Her own dramatic flare, usually well concealed, had blossomed since her uncle’s absence from the city. She usually kept it subdued by the constraints of society, which Artemisia appreciated. But in times of great duress it broke through. 

“You have a fall fever. You have a fall fever every year when the temperatures change, you said so yourself.” 

She had, in fact, said so three days ago, when she’d first begun feeling poorly. But Katherine didn’t appreciate being reminded of this. She expressed her displeasure with a delicate sniff which, given the current state of her nasal passages, ended up a great deal less delicate than she’d intended. 

“You are not sympathetic.” Katherine said. She tried for haughty but landed on petulant. Artemisia dabbed the cloth over her brow again. 

“I was sympathetic for a full two days.” Artemisia said. She set the cloth aside. Many people thought Artemisia silly. Certainly she tended that way. She had, after all, been raised to it. But underneath her fripperies and flutters she was harder than a great many people realized. Katherine knew it. It was why she liked her so much, even if she didn’t appreciate seeing this side of her friend at the moment. “But now you’re languishing. Up, please.” 

With a sigh, Katherine pushed herself up and allowed one of her many pillows to be placed behind her. She was still gowned in a night dress, her hair caught up in a loose tail and not any sort of practical arrangement. But Artemisia eyed her with the same critical gaze she turned on her own apparel before a ball. “Better,” she said, and Katherine _did_ feel a bit more alert, sitting up. Some of the fog cleared from her head, and she dared an experimental breath through her nose. Artemisia sorted a pile of cards almost too large for her to hold all at once. “This has all built up and it’s getting quite out of hand. We need to respond to at least some of this correspondence.” 

Katherine knew from experience that when Artemisia was in a mood like this, it was better not to argue. So she nodded, meek as a lamb, and set her hands on her lap. “I defer to your expertise.” 

Her uncle had alienated almost everyone on the Hill worth knowing, through decisive action and occasional happy accident. But Katherine, who was more able to keep her tongue behind her teeth, received a great many invitations. Having a duchess at a party earned at least a few inches of column space in the society pages, and social capital was almost incalculable. It made determining which events to attend and which to refuse -- and almost as crucially, _how_ to refuse them -- a full time job. 

It was a job Artemisia excelled at. She clucked and hummed to herself, sorting through the pastel envelopes with a practiced touch. She’d pause over this one or that, tapping it delicately to her lips as her brow furrowed to exactly the proper degree for a lady. Occasionally, Katherine would fish something improper out of the pile of rejects, and Artemisia would pout and sigh. But her social acumen was such that she understood Tremontaine had a certain amount of social capital it could afford to waste, and a certain reputation for eccentricity that must be sustained. 

Still, when Katherine insisted on attending _this_ salon, or _that_ lecture, her pretty lips would scrunch into a bow below her nose. She was too well bred, and so would hold the envelope in her hand like a shield, hiding her moue. But above the gold-dusted parchment she would roll her eyes, twinkling at Katherine’s audacity. At times like these Katherine very much wanted to take her wrist and pull the stationary aside to kiss her. She often did, but in her current state she thought Artemisia might not welcome her. 

“I have two letters here. One from Master St. Vier, which says the island is lovely and the weather is perfect and the locals are charming and helpful, and one from your uncle, which says that the island is wretched, the weather atrocious, and the locals primitive and odiferous. Which would you like me to read?” 

Katherine perked up, leaning forward. “The Master wrote a letter?” 

Artemisia scanned the paper. “A brief one, in your uncle’s hand, so I would venture he dictated it. But yes.” 

“If there’s nothing pressing, set them aside. I’ll read them at my leisure.” Katherine looked ready to snuggle back into her pillows and resume wallowing, so Artemisia set the stack of cards aside delicately, but determinedly, her beautiful eyes going calculating and hard. 

“Nothing else on your social calendar,” she said, referring, of course, to the social activities that Katherine enjoyed and pursued, “But we must discuss your Tremontaine calendar. Rather urgently.” 

“I simply couldn’t--” Katherine said. Artemisia was quite finished, and having none of it. 

“The Halliday ball.” 

“I hardly think I’ll be well enough in two days time, Artemisia.” Katherine plucked at the threads of her blanket, her actions once more those of a petulant child. She had not mastered her uncle’s sneer, which was excellent for making oneself so unpleasant that they did not have to do anything they did not wish to, but she would not have turned it on Artemisia even if she had. 

“You’re well enough to practice with your swordmaster in the mornings before retiring to bed,” Artemisia said. As it was true, Katherine had very little recourse to protest. She had managed a splendid bout before retiring to bed late this morning. Not content to twist the knife, Artemisia retrieved the ex-Duke’s letter and read, in her haughtiest voice, “‘The Hallidays are as tedious as they come, but their ball is amusing enough to satisfy one evening. It is imperative that you go. Remember the long and storied friendship between our families. Lady Halliday is sharp enough but her husband is a trembling buffoon, terrified of what Tremontaine might do in his name. It’s worth dropping in to watch him shake, if nothing else.’” 

“It does not say that!” Katherine lunged for the paper.

Artemisia danced back, laughing. “It does! There’s a postscript, too, it says, ‘While you’re there see the younger Miss Halliday about her collection of primitive artwork, I think you’ll find it --’ Katherine, promise me you _won’t_ , it will be nothing but rough wood carvings of unmentionable body parts!” 

“Well, I could see that for less effort if I snuck down to the Riverside house,” Katherine said, tartly, plucking the letter from Artemisia’s delicate grip.

Still flustered from the very idea of primitive artwork, Artemisia’s cheeks were pink, her eyes demurely downcast. But the curl to her lips belied the secret thrill of the thing. Katherine was reminded strongly of the first night they’d met, Artemisia in the ostrich feather and her best pearl earrings, on the verge of being discovered at a Tremontaine party. 

Katherine touched her wrist, and got smartly rapped with the envelope for her trouble. “Maybe you should go to the Riverside house,” Artemisia said, with one of the delicate sniffs that Katherine was unable to pull off in her current condition. “Fewer gardens and plantings, at any rate. Maybe then you’d be less miserable, and we could go to the decent parties.” 

Katherine pretended to consider it for a moment. “If I did move to the Riverside house, would you come with me?” 

“Certainly not!” Artemisia said. She laughed at the very idea, her chin tipping toward the sky. Again, Katherine thought about kissing her, but she rubbed her injured fingers instead. 

“Then, obviously, I must stay here. And suffer.” She cast her eyes down, let her jaw become heavy with the weight of it, and got whacked again. 

“Suffer, then.” Artemisia flicked her wrists, fluffing her skirts, and then smoothed them with a dainty touch. “I’ll send Marcus around with your lunch and you can tell him all about how terribly you suffer.” 

“No!” Heedless of the danger of deftly wielded correspondence, Katherine seized Artemisia’s hand in both of hers. “Don’t send Marcus, please. He’s much less kind than you, even when you’re hitting me with things.” 

“Well, that’s because he’s put up with years of this nonsense from your uncle,” Artemisia said, but she allowed herself to be drawn down to the bed, sitting beside Katherine. Her skirts fell in perfect folds, a lovely compliment to the brocade of the bedcloth. 

“Which he _never_ lets me forget,” Katherine said. “And he’ll poke me, you know he will.” 

“Only because he loves to see you flinch.” Artemisia was relenting, inch at a time. She smiled and pressed her fingertips to Katherine’s cheek for just a moment, then moved them to Katherine’s hair line. This time, when Katherine leaned into the touch, Artemisia neither attacked her nor pulled away. “Perhaps if you don’t want to be poked, you ought to stop wallowing. 

Katherine, who had closed her eyes and nestled into Artemisia’s palm like a greedy cat, opened one eye balefully. 

Artemisia laughed and stood, straightening her skirts again. “I would highly recommend your condition improve in time to attend the Halliday ball,” she told the Duchess, “Or I _will_ send Marcus up. And I’ll tell him you’re in a mood, and he ought to be prepared.” 

Katherine’s hands flew to her heart. “You wouldn’t!” 

“I would! In fact, I’d tell him there’s nothing more I could do with you.” 

“Artemisia!” 

“I’d suggest he send for your mother.” 

When Katherine could no longer retain her shocked facade, she crumbled into laughter. Artemisia followed her, with a more delicate and ladylike giggle. Katherine pouted. “You’re terrible to be so unkind to me when I’m sick.” 

“You have a fall fever,” Artemisia reminded her, “and I’m unkind to you because someone has to be. Now, get out of bed and we’ll set your hair to rights, or I _will_ send Marcus up.” She softened the words with a kiss on Katherine’s cheek. 

“Cruel,” Katherine said.

“I am what you made me to be.” Artemisia was utterly unrepentant. “Now make a decision, or what’s more, I shall ask Marcus if he minds me staying in his room until you’re less --” she waved one elegant hand to encompass all of Katherine. 

Tremontaine House had been silent for many years. Through parties, schemes and chaos, it had always maintained a foreboding air. But it echoed now with the laughter of two young women, and in the parlor below, Jane Hetley was politely but brusquely told the Duchess was not in and no, neither was Lady Fitz-Levi, and she left Tremontaine house to the sound of ringing twitters with a frown on her pretty face. 

Two days later the Duchess Tremontaine was utterly recovered, to the relief of everyone on the Hill. She appeared at the Halliday’s ball with her hair exquisite in an arrangement of braids and netting beaded with pearls. She arrived with Lady Artemisia Fitz-Levi in her retinue, which was expected, and went unremarked upon. Both ladies danced with the many gentlemen of their acquaintance, most of whom were married, and neither gave so much of a hint that she was searching for a husband. This did generate some gossip. It had been nearly two years since the unpleasant business with the Duchess, the duel, and Lord Ferris, and no one had expected two so excellent prospects to remain alone for so long. 

And yet they delicately extricated themselves from the circle of dandies surrounding every time it formed. Lady Artemisia danced three times with Arthur Lindley, as many as his wife would allow, and four times with her cousin Lucius. The Duchess greeted Lady Halliday effusively, her husband growing increasingly ruffled with each word. And toward the end of the evening both ladies disappeared with their host’s younger daughter for a tour of the families galleries, from which Lady F-L returned very pink-cheeked. 

At the end of the evening they departed arm in arm, the Duchess's unpleasant young man trailing after them, lobbing bits of orange peel into their skirts.

**Author's Note:**

> Dear VictoriaWrites, 
> 
> Happy Yuletide! 
> 
> I loved your prompt for Artemisia and Katherine getting together post-canon. I agree with you totally that Privilege sets up a lot of potential for a Queer Katherine storyline, and that her relationship with Artemisia has a lot of heavily loaded subtext. My reading of the book is actually that they are together by the end of Privilege. I know it's incredibly low-key, but that's how Ellen Kushner writes so many of her relationships, which is something I love about her prose. (Actually, my reading of Privilege is that by the end Marcus, Katherine, and Artemisia are all together in some queer poly/triangle. I sort of made references to it here, but tried to tone it down since you specifically wanted f/f shipfic). 
> 
> I know I didn't hit a lot of your likes directly, but I hope I at least managed to nod to them -- specifically in regards to canon compliance, competence, and a nod to secret dating. (Even if secret dating isn't really a thing in canon... idk, it seems a little like Blatant Everything is more the direction the aristocracy goes.) 
> 
> Anyway, I really, really hope you enjoy your yuletide fic! I had a blast writing it, specifically mixing the medieval and victorian elements that make up Kushner's world. Playing with Katherine was also a huge load of fun for me; in the past most of my Swordspoint fandom experience has focused on Alec. It was great to have a protagonist who's so like him in some ways, but completely opposite in others. I especially wanted to play with the character traits she shares with her uncle (cough, melodrama) but in a situation a little less dire than canon. 
> 
> Thanks again for the opportunity to write for you! Happy Yuletide, happy holidays, and have a fantastic new year!!!!


End file.
